


The Way of the Pathfinders

by Kittenly



Series: While Time Remains [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dual-Verse, Elf road trip, Gen, Lore-heavy, Minor Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Post Trespasser, Two Inquisitors, Wandering Keepers, We're gonna save Solas whether he likes it or not, autistic inquisitor, fraught relationships, past Zevran/Female Amell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7691851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenly/pseuds/Kittenly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition is disbanded, and her last encounter with Solas has left Ren questioning everything she thought she knew. Unsure of what to do next, but needing to do something, she starts down the Vir Hanal'Ghilanen: the way of the pathfinders. The Hanal'Ghilanen are wandering Keepers, attached to no clan, who seek to keep traditions and laws between the clans, while also searching tirelessly to uncover the secrets of the past. </p>
<p>If she's going to have a chance at facing Solas and the Agents of Fen'Harel, she'll have to uncover mysteries long forgotten. On her mission, she's joined by Merrill, a recently inducted Hanal'Ghilan, and Zevran, hero of the Fifth Blight. But the three are outnumbered, outmatched, and outmaneuvered at every turn. They'll be lucky to save themselves, let alone the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Things Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I've been ass deep in DA lore meta, particularly in regards to the Dalish, and it grew into this fic. Because it's planned to be a pretty involved series, I've made a little cheat sheet for the world state and the Wardens/Hawkes/Inquisitors who make appearances: http://kitsungari.tumblr.com/dual-verse-WS
> 
> For more on from this verse, any fics tagged with Dual Verse on my AO3, http://elthadriel.tumblr.com/tagged/lysander-trevelyan, http://elthadriel.tumblr.com/tagged/pyrena-hawke,

It had been months since Solas had ripped the anchor from their hands. Months since Renwyn Lavellan and Lysander Trevelyan looked at each other and nodded. Their decision was made without words, but they spoke as one to the Exalted Council. The Inquisition was over. Skyhold was officially abandoned. Their companions, having been called together one last time, went their separate ways for good.

After affairs at Skyhold were taken care of, Ren should have been able to retire how ever she pleased. Cullen, who was pleased that his new wife now actually had some sort of life expectancy, took her and Lysander to meet his family. It should have been the start of a quiet, peaceful life. Mia and Brandon seemed to like her, and she could endlessly entertain their gaggle of children with a shower of sparks of a display of Fade-Stepping.

Nights often found Ren and Lysander entertaining the horde of Cullen’s nieces and nephews with tales of their adventures. On one particular evening, they spoke of meeting the last Inquisitor, Ameridan.

“…And then we look up, and glaring down at us is the biggest dragon you can imagine,” Lysander said, stretching his arm over his head.

“But it was trapped!” Ren cut in, “Caught by some powerful spell.”

“And there, just below Hakkon’s massive jaws, about to be chomped, was an elven man,” said Lysander. “It was Ameridan. In order to stop Hakkon from ravaging the lowlands, he trapped himself in his own spell.”

Ren hopped forward, talking over Lysander. “We didn’t have much time, as Ameridan couldn’t stay in the world for much longer and soon Hakkon would be freed.”

“Wait,” Brandon interrupted, “ Ameridan was an elf?” The children glared at him; the story was getting exciting.

Ren and Lysander exchanged a glance, and Ren saw Lysander’s entire body clench. Ren felt her own heart sank at Brandon’s disbelieving words.

“Well he was,” Lysander snapped. “The last inquisitor was an elven mage. Just like Ren is.”

Mia must have sensed the sudden tension, as she broke in.

“Don’t you remember, Brandon? Cullen told us about him. He’s the one who sent the Orlesian nobles scrambling to hide their old claims that he was descended from him.”

Laughter filled the room.

“Anything that makes those bastards chaff is good in my opinion,” Brandon said, raising his mug with a nod at Ren.

“That’s not…” Ren began to say, only to lose her words as the others spoke over her, trading jabs at Orlesians.

Lysander didn’t laugh. Ren remembered what he had been like just after they had found Ameridan and defeated Hakkon. He was livid. Ren understood some of it—he had been a Chantry brother, and to find out that the Chantry had erased the heritage of one of its heroes offended his very core. And if they did it to Ameridan, they’d do it to Ren, which Lysander confessed had already worried him.

So when he spoke, the anger was boiling just beneath the surface of his words.

“That’s not why it’s important,” he said.

The chatter silenced.

Lysander turned to Ren. She stood beside him with her shoulders hunched in on herself. She felt the familiar feeling of words being trapped inside her. She wanted to shout, to _make_ them hear why it was really so important that Ameridan was an elf. But the words jumbled in her head and tied themselves into knots and she couldn’t get them out.

Lysander reached out with his hand and squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. “Take your time. We’re listening.”

Ren nodded and took a deep breath.

“It’s just…” she said, trying to force the knot of words out. “Ameridan was a Chantry hero.” So many eyes were staring at her. “And that wasn’t…” She halted, then tried again. “And even an elf being their hero wasn’t enough. They called the Exalted March anyway.” She glanced up. Brandon looked ready to argue, Mia gnawed at her lip, and Cullen looked like something had hit him.

Ren shrugged Lysander’s hand away. She dodged eye contact and walked out of the room. As she hit the outdoors, a cool breeze washed over her. Slowly the knot of words loosened and she gave a sigh of relief.

“Ren?” It was Cullen. He’d followed her into the night air. She stayed silent, unable to access words, but she gestured from him to come closer in what she hoped was an agreeable manner.

Cullen guessed her meaning, and he approached. They stared off into the dark foothills together, arms brushing.

“I had never thought of that,” he said.

“Of what?”

“Of what Ameridan being an elven mage really meant. I mean, what it really, really meant to your people. Given the elves history with the Chantry, it changes so much.”

Ren nodded.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”

“It’s an elf thing,” Ren said with a shrug. “I wasn’t really expecting you to.”

A heavy silence stretched between them.

“Ren,” said Cullen. He inhaled, as if steeling himself for something. “Do you regret marrying me?”

It wasn’t a question Ren was prepared for. She considered it carefully.

“No,” she settled on.

“Took you awful long to come up with that,” Cullen muttered, but shook himself.  “It’s just…things haven’t been right. Not since we’ve gotten here.”

“No. They haven’t,” said Ren, not taking her eyes from the distant hills.

When she didn’t say anything else, Cullen sighed, frustrated.

“Well, come to bed then,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “Perhaps this all will make more sense in the morning.”

* * *

Things got worse when Lysander left for Tevinter.

“Can I come with you?” Ren whispered, already knowing the answer.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Lysander said.

“I promise I won’t bother you and Dorian.”

Lysander sighed. “You know it’s not that,” he said. “It’s Tevinter.”

“And me being there won’t help.”

“Maker’s balls, Ren, _me_ being there isn’t going to help. We don’t have the title of Inquisitor to protect us anymore. You would make us an even larger target.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh.

Lysander pulled her close and gave her a one armed squeeze. Which was all he could do since he only had one arm left.

“You don’t want to stay here, in the idyllic countryside, with your in-laws, and push out a few blonde baby humans?” he said.

Ren made a face. “I can’t believe Cullen thought we would have kids,” she said. “I mean, where would I put them?” she said, gesturing to herself. She was small— not thin but short—even for an elf.

Lysander snorted. “I heard you two arguing about that the other day,” he said.

“I told him if he wanted kids _he_ could push them out,” Ren said.

Slowly, her face fell. “What don’t we argue about these days?” she mumbled.

Lysander hugged her tighter, though he didn’t have anything to add or advice to give.

He left the next morning. The world without Lysander felt wrong. They’d been together, a team, for years. Now he was off to be Dorian’s sidekick, which left Ren unsure of where she should be.

* * *

Cullen found her staring into a mirror. She was tracing the delicate lines of her vallaslin, which marked Falon’Din as her patron.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Cullen said. Startled, Ren jumped. Cullen chuckled and hugged her. Ren squirmed in his embrace, and when he let go, went back to frowning at her reflection.

“Can you just tell me what’s wrong?” Cullen asked with a heavy sigh. “Is it the family? Because I can ask Brandon and the children to—“

“No,” Ren said, “No, you’re family is lovely.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“What do you think is wrong?” she snapped. “I look at my face and all I see is the brand of a slave to a pretender god.”

Cullen rubbed her shoulders, trying to loosen some of her stress. It didn’t work as Ren stayed stubbornly stiff.

“I didn’t realize you were still upset about it.”

“Of course I’m still upset about it,” said Ren. “My entire religion is founded on falsehoods!” she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “I just don’t know what to do or what to believe in.”

Cullen paused awkwardly before asking, “You believed in the Dalish gods?”

Ren glanced up at his reflection. He was frowning, but she couldn’t decipher anything more from his face.

“Of course I did,” she said.

Cullen hummed thoughtfully.

“What?” Ren snapped.

“I guess I just didn’t think you had been taken in by something like that,” he said.

“What exactly is, ‘something like that?’” Ren asked. She felt heat rising in her stomach, the anger that seemed to come out whenever she and Cullen talked these days.

Cullen didn’t seem to notice her growing anger. “I don’t know. Something so irrational. I always figured you knew it wasn’t real but went along with it because it was expected of you.”

Ren turned and glared at Cullen. He glanced down at her, startled by the rage burning in her. Small sparks of electricity glowed around her, making her hair poof up like an angry cat.

“My religion is ‘irrational?’” she shouted. “Maybe they aren’t gods, but at least our religious figures exist. You pray to an imaginary man in the sky. How is that the rational religion?”

Cullen stiffened and was about to open his mouth to reply when the sparks abruptly faded, leaving Ren looking like a tired old woman.

“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

Cullen took a deep breath, and seemed to calm. After a moment, he looked at Ren with a pained expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you going to sleep in Lysander’s room for a week again?”

Ren shook her head and fell into Cullen’s chest. She tried to find comfort in him, as she had many times before, but she found it difficult, like trying to remember a favorite smell. You might remember what it was, and how it made you feel, but the actual memory was illusive.

* * *

At night she walked in the Fade. It was one of the many skills Solas had taught her as her informal mentor, and possibly the most useful. But though she often wandered, searching for signs of her friend, this night was different. Tonight she walked with purpose.

Mia’s home was at the foothills of the Frostbacks in Western Ferelden. The land had seen much fighting in recent years, and Ren found the memories of battles and massacres captured in the Fade’s landscape. It was treacherous terrain, but it was here that she would find easy access to spirits.

Slipping a small knife out her sleeve, she drew it across the inside of her arm. Walking in a slow circle, she let her Fade-blood drip, forming a ring.

“I seek audience a spirit of knowledge,” she intoned, pouring magic into the blood circle. “Come, and let us make a deal.”

When the circle closed, there was a flash of green light, then there was a figure standing within. It was ethereal, but Ren thought she could possibly make out the vague figure of a woman within.

“I am Knowledge, ever seeking,” she said. “What do you seek, fellow traveler? And what do you offer?”

Ren steadied herself, determined to show no weakness to the spirit, lest it show a less friendly side. The blood circle would keep it from possessing her outright, but spirits and demons were sly, and she did not know this particular spirit’s intentions.

“I seek information. A spell or ritual perhaps. I’m not sure, but I know it can be done.”

The spirit cocked her head. “And what would you exchange for such knowledge? Perhaps I could see through your eyes—just a glimpse—“

“No,” Ren said, letting magic crackle across her. The spirit seemed to shrink back. “I offer a simple trade. Knowledge for knowledge.”

The spirit perked up at this. “What do you have for me?” it demanded, shimmering against the boundary of the circle.

“Knowledge of dwarven crafts,” Ren said, “A schematic for a type of mine a companion used during our time together.”

“It is difficult to know the minds of the stone-children,” the spirit said, sounding positively ravenous. “I have decided. This is an acceptable trade.”

Ren conjured up the schematic, which was sitting on her bedside table as she slept. “Here it is,” she said, holding it up. The spirit pressed itself against the boundary, but before it could get a good look, Ren rolled it back up.

“Now, tell me how to remove my vallaslin.”


	2. Chapter 2

_By all the stars, Mythal has chosen me above all the rest to serve her!_

* * *

 

As the tall wall of the city finally came into sight, Falon, her undead horse, started to make deep rasping sounds. Strange. The creature hardly ever reacted to anything.

Murmuring soothing words to him, Ren roped him around a tree. He didn’t protest, and he would be fine—he had no real need to eat or drink. While she always packed lightly, she left all but her most necessary supplies with him. She slung her staff across her back and turned to her second mount, a ghostly white Halla she had named Enansal.

Climbing onto his back, she raced across the delta towards to growing walls of the city. The Halla moved with uncanny speed over the boggy ground, as if he had a supernatural knowledge of the land. Ren crouched low on his back, her mind alight with worry.

On some level, she knew that the Clan was alright. They had been living in Wycome for the better part of two years and nothing extraordinary had happened.

But the cloud of rotten magic that hung over the city was more powerful than almost any Ren had encountered before. And even if it had yet to cause any grand tragedies, it was only a matter of time.

 

* * *

“There are so many trees,” Ren said. Her skin was chill and clammy and her fingers trembled, but she kept upright and alert.

She walked beside Keeper Deshanna through the streets of Wycome. As far as human cities went, would have been of the more tolerable. The city was only partially walled, as much of it had been destroyed in the battle against Duke Antoine and his Venatori allies. The wilds of the Marches had crept into the city in the intervening years, granting a rustic feel. It suited a city that a Dalish Clan called home.

“Not as many as I would like,” Keeper Deshanna said. “But you know shemlen, they prefer the shade of their stone towers to that of trees.”

Ren nodded. As they scrambled over the crumbled wall, they came to a small fenced grove. Ren couldn’t count the trees. Most of them were still small, barely more than saplings. In the back, there were a few taller ones.

Here was the epicenter—this place of mourning and grief had eaten away at the Veil. Magic drifted through the unstable divide, creating stagnant pools of miasma that lingered over the whole city. Ren could feel it roiling around her, filling the imprints of the departed. Shemlen would call it haunted, but Ren knew better. And she knew the dangers of such places if they were allowed to keep festering.

“We’re here,” Keeper Deshanna said. Though she was old, she walked with a confident stride. She surveyed the grove with a frown, and Ren knew the keeper was taking in the signs of a dangerous place. Though she might not have much in the way of hedge magic, Keeper Deshanna was wise, and she knew a bad situation when she saw one.

“Little Adaya’s proved to be moderately sensitive, but she is young, and the hedge mage’s only proper teacher is experience.” The keeper leveled her gaze at Ren, who even after all these years wanted to shrink under it. “If anyone can help this poor city, it would be you, Da’len.”

With a glance at the Keeper, Ren entered the grove. The Keeper was right—if anyone could help heal the city, it was her. She in addition to her mage talents, she had considerable skill with what her people referred to as hedge magic.  As a mage, she could wield the power of the Fade, and command magic forces like Varric commanded his words into a story. As a hedge mage, she was like Varric’s readers, able to make sense of the feelings and forms that the words created. Having both talents was not a common gift. It meant she had an uncanny talent for unraveling magical tangles and disturbances, a talent which had only been honed during her time as Inquisitor.

As she stepped under the trees, icy sweat covered her. The ambient magic in the air was thick like sludge pressing into her lungs. As the shadows of the trees feel upon her, Ren could hear the barest of whispers in the back of her mind.

_We are gone_

_Do not forget us_

_Why does it hurt_

_What is happening_

They were hard to see in the bright light, but small shimmers of energy, too small to be spirits, rolled along the ground until they reached her. She felt them tremble with fear and confusion.

They weren’t really the spirits of the dead. Every necromancer knew that whatever happened to the soul when it died, it didn’t stick around unless there were truly exceptional circumstances. Rather, spirits, or bits of ambient magic filled the void where a soul had just been, taking its shape like plaster filling a mold.

And what shape did these take? The thoughts and feelings of most of the dying. Pain, confusion, fear. Congealed in a mass like this, with so many dead and betrayed, it was only a matter of time before those tiny bits devoured each other and became something even worse.

Ren knelt in the center of the grove and let the little imprints of the dead cling to her. There was only one way to deal with them—to listen, to care, and to comfort. If left to fester, the magic in the city would eventually turn septic and the place would be overrun by demons. Ren just hoped she wasn’t too late.

The whispers grew louder, sounding like the stirring of dry leaves and dust in the wind. Ren took a deep breath and relaxed. She let their words and fear roll through her mind, paying close attention to each. The imprints scraped at her skin with rats’ claws, but Ren didn’t waver, just listened. Each tiny, insignificant memory got her full attention. Ever so slowly, the twisted knot of foul magic began to loosen. The imprints dissolved back into formless drifts of magic like a stream after being cleared of rotting debris.

Ren opened her eyes. Her dark skin was covered in tiny scratches, but she hardly noticed. It was quiet now. The dead were gone now, relieved of their burdens.

A phantom pain throbbed where her left arm should have been. She clutched the stump without thinking, rubbing along the raised scars where the anchor had killed her flesh. It was always worse after dealing with the dead. She rose, her breath puffing in the gathering dusk. She walked through the grove to the back, where the oldest trees stood. The bark was scarred, each tree with a rune.

Ren hadn’t finished her Keeper training, but between Deshanna and Solas she knew enough of Dalish writing to understand the names that were inscribed there.

Here was Nove, the closest person she had had to a friend. He was Deshanna’s Second. Next to him was Teifi, the young hunter and one of the Clan’s most promising archers. Next to her was Morven, who had lead their little spy group to the conclave. Farther down was Idris, an older, quiet hunter who was the best travelled of the lot. All of them had died in the explosion while Ren had survived.

She had never really questioned why it had happened this way. She was always too busy being thrown from one life threatening situation to the next. But now, surrounded by the trees that marked their death, she couldn’t help but wonder why she had been spared.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Keeper Deshanna. Ren winced as the Keeper’s hand fell on her, the thousands of little cuts stinging in protest. Keeper Deshanna frowned, worry clear in the heavy lines of her face.

“Come, girl. Let’s get you to a healer. You look terrible.”

“No,” Ren said. Keeper Deshanna turned the full force of her gaze onto Ren, and once again, she felt the impulse to lower her head and follow obediently. But Ren shoved the impulse away. She wasn’t Deshanna’s First anymore, and she had only just started her work.

“The dead are attended to,” Ren said, “but the Veil is still thin. It won’t stay quiet for long.”

* * *

“I don’t like it,” Keeper Deshanna said once Ren had explained how she would go about stabilizing the Veil.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it,” Ren said. They had moved from the grove to a square that housed many of Clan Lavellan’s aravels. The Keeper and Ren wandered between them, gathering curious glances from nearby. Slung against her hips, Ren held a basket, which was slowly filling with an odd assortment of supplies.

Keeper Deshanna glanced over at Ren with a frown. Ren ignored her, thoughts on the night ahead and how to best prepare.

“You have changed Da’len,” Keeper Deshanna remarked, with a tone that Ren couldn’t quite place. Perhaps regret? It didn’t matter, she had a task to accomplish. The city was still in danger until she found some way to strengthen the Veil.

“The Renwyn I knew would not have charged into action so hastily,” she continued. “And she knew how to take the value of an outside opinion.”

Ren considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “On the contrary, Keeper, I know far better than I used to the value of outside opinions. The girl you speak of was not cautious—she was timid. I have learned that sometimes the best thing to do with an outside opinion is disregard it. No matter how well intended.”

“I see,” Keeper Deshanna said stiffly. “Well if I can’t dissuade you, I may as well help you prepare.”

“I appreciate that,” Ren said. They moved in silence, the Keeper helping Ren prepare what she could. While she would not not bring physical objects into the Fade with her—at least now that she was without the anchor—careful preparations of salves and potions in the waking world could let her find them when she was on the other side.

Though the air was filled with the Keeper’s worry, she was pleasant to work with. One of the worst things about losing her arm was the sheer difficulty of crafting everyday materials. Everything from chopping to mixing ingredients was unwieldy, and having Keeper Deshanna’s experienced hands help her made the whole process easier.

When they were done, Ren had a string of potions and a few other handy items. It was time to begin.

As they headed back towards her home, Keeper Deshanna said, “You know it’s just because I worry for you, don’t you?”

“What’s just because you worry?” Ren asked, her mind on her task.

“You are the only survivor of our clan’s mission to the Conclave. I sent you on that mission—I hand picked all of you. If something were to happen to you, if somehow you came to harm again because of my actions—“

Ren reached out with her remaining arm and touched the Keeper’s shoulder. The old woman was tense, and Ren could feel her muscles clenching as she tried to give some comfort.

After a moment, Keeper Deshanna seemed to shrug off her melancholy. “Will you join the clan for supper?” she asked. “I know Adaya wishes to speak to you.”

“That’s your new First?”

Deshanna hummed noncommittally. “Technically you are still my First. But yes. She is my apprentice.”

It hadn’t occurred to Ren that she would still hold her rank within the clan. As she joined a circle of elves for supper, she mulled over the information. She hadn’t thought of herself as the Keeper’s First in years—not since she had officially taken on the title of Inquisitor. Around her sat familiar faces from her childhood. She’s seen many of the hunters that sat with them come of age, and had even helped apply their Vallaslin. It made her even more conscious of her newly bare face—though no one had commented upon it yet.

“Let me help you with that,” a soft voice said. Ren felt her bowl lifted from her lap. Adaya, Keeper Deshanna’s new apprentice, took Ren’s food and began cutting the meat into smaller chunks. The girl was no more than fifteen, and she was the only other barefaced elf present.

“I can do it myself,” Ren said, snatching the bowl back. Adaya stared at her with wide eyes.

“I didn’t mean to offend, lethallan,” she squeaked.

Ren shook her head. “I didn’t think you did, da’len,” said Ren choosing that specific term with care. Though she might not wear her Vallaslin, she was a full mage and former Inquisitor.

“It was…difficult when I lost my arm,” she explained. “Fulfilling these simple tasks reminds me that I am still me. It may be slightly harder, but I can still take care of myself.”

As she finished, she reached into a pocket on the inside her robe. With a slight flourish, she drew out a spoon. The edge was sharp, and it sliced the meat with ease. Ren scooped up the morsel and ate.

“So Keeper Deshanna tells me you have a bit of hedge magic in you,” Ren said.

Adaya nodded excitedly. “I have a bit. Keeper says you’re even more sensitive.”

“I don’t know,” Ren said. “Since I can’t feel your talents myself. It’s probable though. I’ve never met anyone as sensitive as I am.”

“Can you teach me?” she asked. “I can feel what you did earlier, Wycome has never felt more peaceful!” She sighed, and gazed up into the darkening evening. “I forgot how it feels to breathe easy like this. I tried to smooth out the magic, and give the spirits some peace, but whenever I tried…” She trailed off with a shudder.

“It was like drowning,” Adaya said in a small voice. Ren nodded.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Ren said. “You must be strong,” she said, giving the girl a measuring look. She was short and stocky for an elf—much like Ren. Her hair was long and dark tangle of wild curls. Her face was covered in freckles, though they were subtle against her already dark skin. Ren considered. She was likely a close cousin, though Ren never had a brain for keeping track of the twisted Lavellan family tree.

Adaya looked down, warm with pleasure at Ren’s words. “It was nothing,” she said.

Ren shook her head. “No, it wasn’t,” she said trying to figure out how to impress the weight of her next words onto the young elf. “If you were weak, immersing yourself in that much bad magic would have destroyed you. The dead would have broken your mind and devoured your thoughts. At best, you would be unable to block them out and their voices and memories would become indistinguishable from the waking world. At worst, they would leave you little more than a husk for their presence to drift in and out of.”

Adaya’s eyes widened further. “That… That can happen?”

Ren nodded seriously. “Just because you know how to swim doesn’t mean you won’t drown. So either you are stronger than you claim or you happened to be very lucky.”

The young girl stared at her hands in silence as Ren finished her meal. Finally, Keeper Deshanna returned to them. She gave a faint frown when she saw Adaya huddled in on herself.

“My dear, why don’t you take our bowls back. I wish to have a word with Renwyn.”

Adaya jumped at the chance to get away. Once she was gone, she glared at Ren.

“You scared the poor girl,” she said.

“I was honest with her,” Ren said, annoyed. “She should know the path she walks. If she’s strong, she’ll overcome her fear and walk carefully for it.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“Then she will know her limits. She will avoid her talent, and remain whole.”

“We do not live in times where we can afford to let such a useful talent go untapped,” the Keeper said, with a hint of rebuke in her voice.

Ren looked up at the Keeper, studying her. From the outside, Ren’s face was completely neutral, as she was naturally unemotive. But inside, her feelings churned and her mind raced.

After a moment’s hesitation, Ren voiced the question that gnawed at her.

“Does Adaya know why my hedge magic is so much more powerful than hers?”

The Keeper didn’t meet Ren’s eyes as she considered her answer. “Hedge mages are uncommon, even among our people. Little is known about where their power comes from.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

The Keeper sighed, as if Ren was an impatient student.

“No,” she said. “She knows little about you other than that you are a gifted mage and hedge mage.”

“So you would have her break, like you had me break?” Heat prickled all over her skin, and the slight buzz of static electricity started building, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Da’len,” the Keeper said, her voice even and reasonable. “You are stronger for your trials. Adaya will be too—assuming I can talk her down from the scare you’ve given her. Think of what the clan—what all of Thedas has gained from your skills.”

“But you know,” Ren said, her voice rising. “You know what could happen to her and you didn’t even warn her. Maybe you didn’t know when I was young. But you know now what could happen and you didn’t tell her!”

“The wellbeing of the Clan is worth it,” Keeper Deshanna said, unphased by Ren’s anger. “Even if she does break, she will still help the Clan, just as you have. If she never uses her gift, the clan will be worse off for it.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” said Ren. “She is not your sacrifice.”

“We all sacrifice for the clan, Da’len,” said the Keeper sadly.

Ren stood, taking her staff in her hand and leaned against it. The energy of her anger seeped into it, making the veins of carved lyrium glow faintly in the vanishing light.

“Stop calling me that, Keeper,” Ren said. “I am not a child. I am not your First.”

If Deshanna was upset, she didn’t show it. “Then what should I call you?”

That caught Ren off guard. Her instinct was to say, ‘Inquisitor,’ but even that was gone now. She was neither not a First or a Keeper or a Hunter.

“Just Ren.”

“Very well, Ren.”

* * *

It was never a good idea to interact with spirits when emotions were running high, but Ren figured it would be better to deal with the Fade before the magic in Wycome began rotting again.

The first thing she noticed when she woke in the dream was the smell. The air was soaked with the scent of sweetgrass and flowers. It made Ren’s head swim and she coughed in the thick air. When she had mostly adjusted to the smell, she stood and began walking the dream city. Unlike the waking city, this Wycome was fully walled in. As she made her way deeper in the city, the city began to twist. The houses stretched impossibly high above her and the roads narrowed until she could just see a sliver of Fade-sky above her.

Ren glanced at the buildings. Most of them were stark white, the deep shadows of their stretched architecture giving them a stylized look, as if they were ink drawings rather than real buildings with depth. Every so often, one of the houses would be inverted, black with white shadows.

There must be a reason for it. Ren pondered the question as she squeezed between them.

The road became an alley which became a dead end. Ren sighed and made to backtrack. But when she turned, a towering black building sat where the path had been. Ren reached out with will, summoning her staff and the gear she had prepared earlier that day to her.

Staff in hand, she approached the black house. As she got closer, the sweet smell hit her again. It was as if someone was burning too much incense, and now that she was deeper in the city, she could catch the faintest hint of something deep and foul smelling under the perfume.

The door of the house was warm under her fingers. She gave it a shove, and it fell in, collapsing into charcoal at her feet.

“That can’t be a good sign,” she said to herself.

Swallowing her unease, she stepped through the door. Heat prickled along her skin, startling after the complete neutral temperature of outside. Taking a breath, Ren took in her surroundings.

The door opened up into a large hall with many branching rooms. It didn’t look natural—more like the inside of a small town home had been duplicated and laid over itself at various angles.

The building was still inverse of the stark white ones outside, but Ren’s mind had an easier time processing it when she was completely surrounded by. Carefully, she stepped forward, her staff at the ready and a spell already starting to pull together in her mind. Nothing appeared as she strode through the room.

Ren shook her head, trying to clear it. The incense smell was making her feel dizzy and fuzzy headed. Sweat began to trickle through her hair and under her robes as the heat persisted.

From the corner of her eye, Ren caught a flicker of movement. She wheeled around, sending a barrage of elemental energy flowing out of her. It crashed into the wall, sending up a rain of sparks, but when Ren looked closer, she saw nothing.

She tiptoed near the spot she had seen the movement. There were scorch marks, but little else. However Ren had enough dealings with the Fade to know that didn’t mean nothing was there.

The wall was pure black, but still managed to have the appearance of depth. Ren tapped along it with her staff, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The metal of her staff sent sharp clicks through the air as it struck the base of the wall. She was beginning to think she had imagined it after all when her staff glowed with a sudden heat.

It burned like she had grabbed the end of a poker that had been resting in the fire. With a shout, Ren dropped her staff. It clattered to the ground, echoing through the silence of the building. Ren looked at her hand, a minor healing spell already forming in her mind. But there was nothing there. Her palm was as smooth as ever—no blisters or scorched skin.

Crouching down, she gingerly poked at her staff. It was cool. She took it in her one hand and began investigating the area. The whole Fade hummed with ambient magic, so it would be nearly impossibly to tease out any particular spell at play. But this also wasn’t the waking world. The Fade was mutable—if you had a strong enough will.

“What are you hiding?” Ren asked the air. “You _will_ show me.”

She pushed her will into the last phrase, infusing it with magic. There was a sense of resistance, as if another will resisted her own, and then the wall changed. It was sudden, as if it had never been anything else. There was now a hallway, and at the end of it, Ren found a trap door.

Propping her staff against the wall, Ren grabbed the metal ring and heaved. The trapdoor squealed reluctantly but opened. Hot, humid air rushed out and assaulted Ren with the stench of decay. As it dissipated, she noticed the sweet smell returning, as if desperate to cover whatever rot had settled in down there.

A wooden ladder descended from the trapdoor, leading to what must be the Fade’s interpretation of the home’s basement. Ren glanced at her staff. This was the Fade, and she was in control here. She imagined what she wanted in her mind, and then willed it into being. The staff dissolved. An instant later, there was a buzzing along her side as the particles of her staff reformed themselves into an glowing imitation of her missing arm. She flexed her fingers, willing them to feel. They did.

Having two arms made the descent into the cellar much easier than it would have been with only one. Grey-white dust puffed as she hopped the final feet down to the cellar floor. Unlike the rest of the house, the basement wasn’t black. In fact, it looked startlingly normal after the Fade-City she had walked through.

Well as normal as a room teeming with spirits ever looked.

Despair and terror demons crowded along the floor, where hunched forms were huddled, ghostly. Ren recognized them as memories rather than dreamers. Whatever happened here had drawn the demons in numbers even Ren found impressive.

A voice from behind her startled her. She turned to see a tall figure—clearly more powerful than the lowly mob of spirits that gathered here. It wore an ornate surcoat, decorated with sigils Ren did not recognize. Its face was hidden under a veil held in place by something that looked like nothing so much as a crown. This was clearly the creature that was pressing at the Veil, keeping it thin and damaged.

Ren willed her staff back into its normal form and aimed it at the spirit.

“What are you?” she demanded.

The creature laughed, a high, unnatural sound. When it spoke, its voice rang with power that made Ren’s bones tremble.

“What a brave little girl you are,” it said, amused. “To speak to one such as I that way.”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t think I shall,” it said. “But perhaps _you_ will.”

A force of will bore down on Ren like the blaze of the summer sun. Her knees felt weak, but she locked them, leaning against her staff for support. Whatever this spirit was, it was more powerful than she had anticipated.

“Just what you said,” Ren said through heaving breaths. “A brave little girl.”

The spirit frowned. Whatever it was, it clearly was clearly accustomed to being obeyed.

“Fine, little girl. Why do you bother me? Other than to accost me with a child’s questions.”

Ren straightened. “The Veil is weak here. I’m here to repair it.”

It laughed again. “And how do you wish to accomplish that?”

“Something is holding the Veil open from this end,” Ren said. “No doubt it’s you. Now that I’ve found you, I just get you to leave and Wycome can finish healing.”

“And what makes you think I will leave? I find this city so diverting.”

Ren nodded, more to herself than to the spirit. “I’m not surprised to hear you say that,” she said. “Nevertheless, I must insist. What is it you want? Perhaps we can reach an agreement.”

As she said the words, she focused her will on the flasks held in her bandolier. Their contents solidified into Fade matter, useful both for bartering and if she and the spirit came to blows.

Then the spirit did something Ren did not expect. It laughed, high and mocking.

“Oh, brave little girl. There is nothing you could give me that I desire,” it said with amusement. The hairs on the back of Ren’s neck stood on end. She had never heard of a spirit unwilling to bargain. She gripped her staff more tightly. This thing—spirit or some Fade creature she didn’t know—was not what she had expected. And that made it very, very dangerous.

“Then what do you want?” she asked and held her staff across her body, defensive. “What aspect do you embody? Pride? Desire?”

“You insult me,” the spirit said, though it still sounded more amused than anything. “I am what I am, and that is more than such a small, childish creature such as yourself can fathom. If your myths have forgotten me, that is not my failing.”

“If you won’t leave of your own accord, I will be forced to take a more violent approach,” Ren said. Intimidation had never been the little elf’s strength, and her words seemed to have no impact. Ren took a breath, stilling her mind. If they were to fight, she would be ready.

“You think to challenge me, little girl?” the spirit said and laughed. “You’re too amusing, I almost wish to spare you just for that. But your blood sings with magic, little one. Perhaps I can finally breach this cursed—what did you call it—Veil?”

Without warning the heat in the room exploded. Flames and smoke and the memories of screams filled the air. It would have choked Ren if she hadn’t cast her barrier at the exact same time. It repelled the worst of the fire and kept her lungs clear.

She was prepared when the spirit leap at her. She chose a spot behind the spirit and willed herself to be there. An instant later, she was there, already with the next spell pouring from her mind into her staff.

A cage of lightning surrounded the spirit, sending blinding arcs of storm and spirit magic into it. It hissed—whether in pain or just annoyance Ren couldn’t tell. It stilled, preparing to do something, but Ren’s next spell was already on its way. A barrage of little spheres of lightning slammed into the spirit, throwing it back against the wall of the lightning cage.

As Ren swung her staff around to send another magical strike, the spirit cried out in a tongue she didn’t know. The lightning cage vanished, as did the remains of her barrier. A wave of arcane power fell on her, driving her to her knees. It wasn’t like anything Ren had felt before. A formless weight driving her down and trying to push into her mind.

“Prostrate yourself before me, child, and I will let you live as my vessel.”

Ren felt her defenses crumble. A kernel of terror formed in her chest. She knew that if she was to avoid becoming its slave, she needed to get out _now_.

She let the fear bloom in her chest, and latched onto the feeling. Energy flooded her, barely controlled. She thought of one word, one simple idea, and threw all her will and fear behind it:

OUT

There was an deafening roar as the basement exploded. The force sent Ren flying, and must have distracted the spirit as she felt her mind become her own again. She caught a glimpse of the street she had walked earlier, and rippled through the Fade like an icy comet until she was standing there.

Perhaps with the aid of her friends—Lysander, Dorian, Cassandra, or even Solas, she might have a hope of challenging this creature. But all her friends were gone and she was alone. If she was to survive, it would not be through strength alone.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Palace of Mythal was grander than I could have imagined. Trees and towers melded seamlessly. Halla grazed in the courtyard, their antlers hung with beads of frozen flame. Thousands of slaves gathered, performing great rituals for their ruler, Mythal the Unconquered. Each was a small spoke in a great machine, with no knowledge of the whole._

_One day I would be able to command this great machine._

* * *

 

There wasn’t much time. Unless she wanted to flee entirely, there was no way Ren could hide from the spirit. It knew the Fade far better than she, and would be able to twist it to its will.

Nevertheless, Ren paused. Preparation was always a mage’s best friend, so she took the few seconds of calm to consider what she had. Aside from her staff, she had the bandolier across her chest, with a number of potions and spell components snug in pouches. Aside from the health potions, most of the gear was intended for binding and restraining magical energies.

That would only be useful if the spirit didn’t slaughter her the moment she paused to set up a circle. Which was unlikely.

With a howl that made Ren’s ears throb, the spirit burst from the rubble of the house. That was the end of her planning session.

The buildings seemed to lean over her, taunting her with labyrinth paths that would probably just lead to dead ends. Emphasis on the “dead.”

With a quick exertion of will, she reformed her staff into a replacement arm. The exaggerated labyrinth of buildings might work to trap her on the ground, but they made for easy climbing. She scrambled up, looking for higher ground. Despite everything, she felt a rush of exhilaration, her memory flashing back to times when she and Lysander would race up the towers of Skyhold.

Memory was power in the Fade. Ren let it wash through her and flow out in a great wave. The change it made as it hit the Fade-building was nearly imperceptible. The stone felt a bit more familiar to her touch; her path up seemed a bit clearer. 

She needed every advantage. The spirit followed, racing towards her like a giant insect. It molded the Fade around it as it moved, creating stairs and wide ledges for it to crawl over in it pursuit.

By the time she pulled herself onto the rooftop, she had lost most of her lead. The clacking of the spirits feet or claws or whatever it hid under its garments was almost there. She looked out from her vantage point. As she had expected, the Fade had turned the city into a maze. Her only landmarks were the strange black houses that dotted the sea of stretching white buildings. If she could figure out what they were, she might be able to use them against the spirit.

“We can play this game if we must, child,” the spirit said as it finished its ascent. “But I assure you I shall win. How long will you drag this out?”

“You seem awfully confident for someone who just took an explosion to the face,” Ren said, turning to face it.

The spirit laughed. “Your charms may be impressive to small beings such as yourself, but your showers of sparks do little against me.”

Ren looked at it, but its veil masked any clues she might get from a face and she couldn’t tell if it was sincere. She couldn’t help herself though, and gave a wry chuckle.

“Where have I heard that before?” Ren said, mostly to herself. “I swear, it’s like there’s a ‘How-to-Be-Evil Handbook’ and it gave everyone the same generic threatening phrases.”

If the spirit heard Ren, it didn’t comment. It lunged at her, impossibly fast. It was all Ren could do to throw herself out of the way in time. She rolled, heading towards the edge of the roof and dropped off.

The fall wasn’t terribly long, and Ren managed to absorb the impact as she hit one of the stairways the spirit had conjured. The instant she was steady, she searched around for a new path through the tangle of buildings.

There. Across the alley was another of the black buildings. With a thrust of her staff-arm, she sent a bolt of lightning crashing through its window and followed in an icy bound shortly after.

She had misjudged the inside. The window she dove through wasn’t above a landing, but an open room, and she fell, tumbling through the air before landing in a heap on the floor.

Despite the pain, nothing seemed broken, and Ren managed to scramble to her feet. The smell of sweetgrass was overpowering again. Like someone had sent fire to some poor incense merchant’s entire stock. Ren hadn’t been this overwhelmed by smell since her last visit to Val Royeaux, where she had noticedseveral of the court drenched in perfumes. When she had complained to Lysander, he snickered before explaining that they were probably trying to cover the distinctive stench of Orlesian Pox (1).

Then it occurred to her. The heat, the overpowering perfume, the stench of death buried under it all—these black houses must have belonged to plague victims, burned to the ground to stop the spreading sickness.

Finally the bones of a plan clicked together in her head. And not a moment too soon. A wave of magic fell over Ren, once again trying to drive her to her knees and make her submit. The spirit stepped into the house through the broken window. Ren was prepared this time. Before the spirit could fully break into her mind, she shot through behind it and ran across the arc of stone the spirit had raised in chasing her.

About halfway alone the stone path, Ren spotted another black house. She leapt towards it, glancing back to make sure the spirit still followed. It was, and its amusement seemed to have faded completely. A snarl ripped out from under its veil as it tried to keep up with the little elf.

Ren darted between roofs, windowsills, and decorations, using her magic to keep her from falling over. When she reached the black house, she threw up a barrier around herself and smashed inside. This time, she was prepared for the drop, and landed in the way Lysander had taught her.

She knew she maybe had half a second until the spirit was on top of her again, so she yanked one of the little vials off her bandolier. With a grunt, she threw it into the floor where it exploded into a tiny cloud of glittering spell components.

It was messy but it would have to do. Ren blasted back up to the crushed window as an icy comet, nearly running into her pursuer. She must have surprised it, as she slipped by it made her way to the next black house.

Thrice more she smashed her little flasks on the floor of the black houses. Each time the spirit came a little closer to catching her. Setting more points would be ideal, but Ren wasn’t sure how long she had before the spirit caught on to her plan.

As she burst out of the last house, she made her way to the cities canopy, where she could all the houses she visited, all connected the raised stone pathways of the spirit. The formed a square, with one of the black houses at each corner. And arching between ever corner was a thin, contiguous ridge in the Fade-stone. Ren had raised it as she flitted between the buildings. It was barely a hand’s width tall and about as wide as her thumb. Even so, it had been a struggle to raise. Ren couldn’t imagine how much power the spirit was using to bend the Fade so easily.

Summoning a final burst of energy, Ren ran. The spirit closed on her, taking advantage of her exhaustion.

One small miscalculation sent her sprawling across the rooftops. She scrambled to her knees but the spirit was already leaping, some terrible spell about to pour over her.

Then it was over the center of the circle. Ren gave a shout and poured the remaining shreds of her will out into the city, activating the containment circle. As the last bit of will left her, darkness swam over her, dragging her down into its depths.

* * *

 

She wasn’t sure how long it was until she came to. The first thing she noticed has her skin burning where she had skidded against the Fade-stone. Then the pounding hit her. It was like a headache but through her entire body—a dull, driving pain that pulsed with her heartbeat.

With a groan, she managed to roll onto her side. The spirit was inches away from her, looming like a giant cat over a mouse. Ren yelped and began to scramble away when she noticed the faint glow of a circle surrounding the spirit. Looking past it, the same glow rose from the city—an enormous glyph to bind and contain the spirit.

“You awaken,” the spirit said. It seemed calm, but Ren didn’t trust herself ability to sense its motive.

“And you are trapped.”

“For now,” the spirit said. If it was concerned, Ren couldn’t tell.

Now that it seemed unable to harm her, Ren took the chance to examine the spirit. It bore some resemblance to the arcane horrors she had occasionally come across. But it was bigger somehow. Not just physically, though it was a towering creature, but its very presence seemed enormous. Even in the odd light of the Fade, it seemed terribly vibrant.

“It seems I underestimated you, girl,” the spirit said.

“I’m stronger than I look,” Ren said.

“No, not stronger,” the spirit said. “If it were a mere matter of strength, I could crush your binding like it was paper. But you are clever, and it seems I have been gone for a very long time. Your magic is strange, and I know not how to counter it.”

That struck Ren as odd. She was a necromancer, and she had tapped the deep wells of energy left by the murdered plague victims to power the binding. While she had used it on a large scale, the concept was rather basic.

“You don’t,” she said.

“You sound so sure,” the spirit said. “How does it work, then? What gives you such confidence?”

Ren tilted her head, examining the spirit in its cage. “If you don’t know, I’m not about to tell you,” she said.

“Ah, so you’re what they call a necromancer?” the spirit said. “What a fascinating sort of magic.”

Shit. The circle might keep the spirit confined, but it didn’t seem to keep the spirit from sifting through her thoughts.

“Get out of my head,” she said. Her voice may have been level, but the spirit must have sensed her panic. It chuckled.

“But it’s open,” it said. “I don’t even have to force an entrance. And what else would you ask me to do while I’m trapped here?”

Ren decided that responding to it would just encourage more prying. She sat perfectly still, looking out over the twisted streets. The spirit was trapped, but the bonds wouldn’t hold forever. She had to come up with a way to kill it. Whatever she came up with, it needed to be fast and strong. A single blow. Any more and it could take advantage of the broken circle and overwhelm her.

It would take some time, but she could do it. If only she could will the fog in her mind away—but the fight had taken so much out of her. All she wanted to do was sleep, dreamless and dark.

“What a intriguing creature you are,” the spirit said as Ren warred with her weariness. “So tied up in knots. And such heavy thoughts weight you down.”

“Stop rooting through my head,” Ren said.

“I would hardly call it ‘rooting,’ little one,” the spirit said, as if patiently explaining something to a child. “Your mind is spread out before me like a beautiful painting. I need not search or pry to comment on what is shown before me.”

Ren pressed her lips together and ground her teeth. She needed to kill this horrid spirit. Quickly.

With a slight effort, she returned her staff to its usual shape. The lyrium infused metal felt cool and familiar under her hands, and light danced along it in response to her magic. But this was a tool of focus and creation. A staff might be a mages most useful tool, but it wasn’t a tool for breaking or killing. Against a spirit of this strength, she needed every advantage she could scrape together.

The effort it took to reshape her staff was more than she expected, and it left her winded and shaking, even though she had exerted no physical effort.

“A sword,” the spirit noted, more curious than anything. “Do you mean to duel me, little one?”

Ren let out a dry laugh. “Definitely not.”

“No, you were never much of one for sword-craft were you,” it said. “Though perhaps you wished to be at some point. Perhaps then you would have _something_ in common with the other children.”

Ice pooled in her gut, though she locked her jaw. She would not let the spirit know it had rattled her. When she felt in control again, she placed her hand on the Fade-stone at her side. At her mental demand, it moulded like wet sand, leaving behind a little basin. Into it, she poured the contents of one of her vials—lyrium dust.

“But you were always a bit of a freak,” it said conversationally. “Even in the Inquisition, you were always everyone’s second choice of Inquisitor.”

Ren pulled the little blade from her belt. She tried to force her hand into smooth, fluid motions, but she couldn’t stem the trembles. Instead of her usual, neat slice, the knife left a jagged slash along the inside of her arm. She held it over the basin, letting her blood drip and mix with the lyrium powder. When it was a thick syrup, she spread one of her jars of healing poultice over it, which tingled as it knit her skin back together. Even so, a scar remained, bright red.

The spirit made a small noise of mock disapproval. “Does your husband know you’ve been dabbling in Blood Magic?” he asked with a grin. “Blood Magic, deals with spirits, why you’re halfway to being an abomination already!”

Deep breaths. Ren forced air into her reluctant lungs. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had these thoughts and worries before.

But hearing them voiced made them harder to dismiss.

She stirred the mixture in the basin with the tip of her silver knife. With her staff-sword laid flat across her lap, she began drawing sigils and glyphs on the broad side of the blade. As the lyrium-blood mixture touched the metal, it hummed slightly, and was absorbed into the blade. Tiny, intricate sigils, of strength and breaking and ending bloomed like veins as Ren worked.

“And you left him, all alone. For what? To meet your clan, your family?” the spirit gave a truly mirthful laugh.

“Look at you,” it said. Ren met its eyes uneasily. “Human husband, your closest friends are human. What have you done for your family since you met these humans? For years you abandoned them to live in the humans’ world. You try to return now but you can’t! You’re not an elf anymore—you’re just a _shem_ with pointed ears!”

“Shut up!” Ren shouted, rising to her feet. Tears ran from her eyes down her bare face. She raised the sword, shining with bloody light. There was no resistance as she broke the circle. The blue rune light snuffed out like a candle flame the second the sword crossed the perimeter.

Stabbing the demon was like stabbing mud. The sword sunk in with a little resistance and a heavy, slurping feeling. Ren had no choice but to sink her full weight behind it and throw her will into the glyphs she had created.

Through her eyelids she saw a flare of red light, and then she was falling forward.

The sword clattered to the ground beneath her and she was lucky to avoid being slashed as she collapsed on top of it. For a breath, she braced herself, waiting for the terrible heaviness of the demon’s will to fall upon her. When it didn’t come, she allowed herself to roll over and sit up.

Wycome had changed. No longer did it spread out as a labyrinth, but it was just a simple city. The white and black buildings still remained, but no longer dominated the landscape.

She had done it then. The demon was dead and Wycome would heal. But still tears dripped down her face. She pulled her knees into her chest and tried to suppress the sobs that bubbled out of her.

It didn’t feel like much of a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Syphilis. In our world, Syphilis was occasionally called "the French Pox."


End file.
